


Stone of Immortality

by ArachnesQuill (DarkLordMyrtle)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen, Hufflepuff Neville, Ravenclaw Hermione, Ravenclaw McGonagall, Slytherin Harry
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-13
Updated: 2015-08-14
Packaged: 2018-04-04 07:07:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 17,961
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4129218
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarkLordMyrtle/pseuds/ArachnesQuill
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In this universe, Dumbledore retrieved Harry from the wreckage of his parents' home and brought him to his relatives' house that night, rather than the following day. He was open and straightforward with the Dursleys, dramatically changing Harry's life at home. How will all of this affect Harry Potter's first year at Hogwarts?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue - The Boy Who Lived

_Prologue: The Boy Who Lived_

* * *

Mr. and Mrs. Dursley, of number four, Privet Drive, were proud to say they were perfectly normal, thank you very much. Mrs. Petunia Dursley was blonde, very tall, and very thin, and her bony face looked perpetually dissatisfied and apprehensive. Her beloved husband, whom she loved for his utter devotion to their family and his financial aptitude, was relatively well-known as the successful director of a firm called Grunnings, which made drills. As director, of course, Mr. Vernon Dursley did not make drills. He organized company meetings, hosted events, and approved or rejected different marketing ideas. As such, he brought home sizable earnings, and he and Petunia lived comfortably in a large house with their beloved son, Dudley. Petunia stayed at home to care for their darling son, all the while weeding through the latest gossip from across the fence.

Privet Drive was by no means a spotlight of wealth; what it lacked in lavish gardens and chandeliers and stained-glass windows it made up for in its pristine efficiency. The uniform houses were all immaculate, organized, and inhabited by kind, orderly people. Though the colors were a bit dull, everyone who lived there lived the sort of simplistic pedestrian routine that made the world a better place.

At the moment, however, Petunia was sitting outside her door, dressed like a nun and smiling awkwardly down at the neighbor's son. He had come up to her with a sheet draped crudely over his head, poor child. She handed him a peach biscuit and sent him off with a pat on the head back to his aunt and uncle, who were dressed like Elizabeth I and Winston Churchill respectively. This holiday wouldn't be half as bad if the majority of the neighbors could stick to such respectable costumes instead of the fanciful attire they usually flaunted. She supposed it was only fair that they have an opportunity just once a year to unleash their imaginations without being judged, and in her youth Petunia would have agreed. However, as she'd grown up hearing her sister's tales of fancy, she'd gained the suspicion that not all of the costumes were entirely fake.

For instance, that one man who'd passed with his "princess" daughter had had suspiciously realistic pointed ears. And that one teenage couple's togas fit them way too familiarly for a costume. And what on earth was this man wearing? It looked like no sort of costume Petunia had ever seen, though she didn't know if it was the silvery hair flowing beneath his pointed wizard's hat that threw her off or that horrendous clash of fuschia with maroon...

The man turned and looked at her, then started walking over with his... grandson? Great-grandson? Her attention was focused not on the child in the cat ears, but on his elderly chaperone... Yes, it was definitely the hair that was the issue.

* * *

"Come along, Acair," called Albus Dumbledore to his great-grandnephew, whose long auburn hair fell in disarray as he leapt in great bounds across the sidewalk behind him. At Acair's side trotted a tabby cat who frequently stopped to affix either of her two companions with a quelling gaze. Behind the tabby crept a shyer cat, whose glistening white fur made her stand out from the concrete sidewalk. Acair had been trick-or-treating already this evening, but he insisted on adding to his already plentiful conquest of sweets. Albus donated a rather large handful of lemon drops to every trick-or-treater he passed.

And so it was that Albus Dumbledore stopped before the front door of Petunia Dursley. With all the charisma gained in his one hundred and fifty or so years, he approached.

"You are Petunia Dursley, I gather? It is a pleasure to meet you at last."

At the mention of her name, Petunia's face tightened, but whether in anger or fear Albus could not be certain. "How did you find me? What is it you people want?"

"I bring some rather urgent and upsetting news, and a request," Albus intoned gravely. The severity of the situation was not lost on Petunia, and she motioned him to continue speaking. "It would be best if we discussed this in a safer location, with your husband present."

"Are you daft?! What will the neighbors think?"

"They will think that I am an old friend or family member coming to pay his holiday regards, especially as I will be visiting in the future. As for my unusual state of dress, well, suffice it to say that it is Halloween, and therefore of no concern to any of the neighbors."

* * *

20 minutes later saw Vernon comforting his wife, who still sat sobbing over the news that her sister had been murdered just two hours past. Minerva McGonagall had the grace to assume her human form for their discussion, and even though she had been among the first to deal with the debris, she could not hold back a few tears that had not been used up earlier in the night. She dabbed at her eyes with an emerald green handkerchief.

When Petunia regained enough control to string together a coherent sentence, she immediately flung at Albus a venomous accusation, "This is all your fault! If Lily had just been- been normal, none of this would have happened! I could have been celebrating a holiday with my family right now, if not for you lot!" Albus merely looked lost in thought and sorrow at her words, leaving McGonagall to come up with a rebuke.

"Do you remember the last school you and Lily attended together? Have you paid attention to the local news lately? The recent explosion there claimed the lives of dozens of innocent, "normal" children, whose parents will never again welcome them home. Surely you can see that "our lot" were not the only ones at risk."

"It was a gas leak," Petunia denied quickly and shallowly. How she believed such a thing when surely Lily had been warning her of the war was beyond Minerva. She chalked it up to denial and refusal to see things rationally- Minerva McGonagall loathed irrationality- and thus gave Petunia a very hard, very flat stare.

Vernon came to his wife's rescue, distracting them from the staring contest by complaining, "There've been too many gas leaks lately, it's unnatural! I've talked to all of my department heads about the dangers of gas and the importance of proper regulation, but will the public ever learn? Honestly, with the recent explosion of gas leaks - pun not intended - I've been investing money in protests against gas fuel. It's putting us all at risk!"

Petunia, who had been staring at her hands during the tirade, shakily met Minerva's eyes. She swallowed once, then laid a hand on Vernon's arm. Petunia doubtlessly found it difficult to confront her denial, just as she found it difficult to confront Minerva's gaze. Yet Minerva maintained her stare, firm and unrelenting, until Petunia accepted the truth, lowering her eyes and drawing a shaky breath.

"Vernon... Those weren't gas leaks. They were killing sprees conveniently disguised as gas leaks. We're all in danger, and no amount of regulation can protect us." Petunia's voice was laced with hysteria. "We'd be best off leaving the country and finding a new place to live. Those were mass murders, children died for no reason- oh, just wait until the gardening club hears about this..."

Albus still sat considering his words, leaving the rest of the party sitting in an awkward silence that was only occasionally interspersed with the noises from the television in the adjacent room, where Petunia had set Acair with a bowl of popcorn. Minerva cleared her throat, and Albus moved to speak.

"I would advise against leaving the country. Petunia, when your sister died to protect her son, she truly managed to protect him against everything Voldemort had. Though her son was orphaned, her murderer- the leader of the terrorist forces- has been destroyed. I estimate that the rest of his forces will be rounded up within the week, their morale shattered. Should you choose to accept custody of your nephew, you would qualify for warding of your home. Lily's protection should carry over to you should you take him in, and even the most vengeful Death Eater would be unable to bring you harm. I would also mention that you would be quite well compensated for any expenses the care of another child would burden upon you."

"We don't want to raise any of your lot. We don't want the house burning down or the neighbors inquiring about odd behaviors."

"I can attempt to seal his magical abilities until he reaches age 11. Accidental magic outbursts can still occur if he feels threatened, but if you care for him this should not be as large of an issue to you, and can even benefit you."

Petunia and Vernon looked at each other for a long moment. Acair yawned loudly in the other room, punctuating the awkward silence.

"I also hear that adopting orphans is a great way to boost your reputation."

"...Deal."

With that settled, Albus withdrew a large, sleeping bundle from his robes. Minerva looked at him incredulously, hoping he had been responsible enough to place warming, airflow, and extension charms.

"Do not tell him of his feats in vanquishing Voldemort and ending the war. Tell him only that his parents were brave, and they died in war to protect their nation. However, he must grow up without entering the magical world. It would be foolish to introduce a young child to immense fame."

Petunia nodded.

Dumbledore handed her the sleeping Harry and tapped his wand to the boy's scar, causing it to relax a bit into his skin. "I have sealed his magic. He will be as normal as we can make him until his eleventh birthday. You must take care of him or the spell will wear off, and I will be summoned. I will not hesitate to investigate, in broad daylight if I must. For the sake of your image, I will conduct my annual meetings on Halloween, the one night where I, ah, blend in with the rest of the world."

Petunia nodded again. Minerva assumed her feline form again, causing a strangled gasp from Vernon. Acair thanked Petunia for her hospitality, and Minerva could see Petunia genuinely smile. Curious, that her obsession with her image wasn't merely a mask. Perhaps it reflected an internal struggle for goodness? Minerva led Acair to the entryway and looked around for the white cat, finding it had not moved from where it had curled up beside the door. The door opened and Acair led them out.

* * *

"...That child. Is he your grandson?" Petunia asked Dumbledore, watching Acair walk around meowing to the two cats. It was a clever costume- nobody would suspect anything about two cats being led out on a walk on Halloween if they were accompanied by a child dressed as a cat.

"No. I have never married. He is my great-grandnephew- my brother's great-grandson. He is nonmagical, and also an orphan."

"He lives with you, then?"

"He stays at times with Arabella Figg, a kind nonmagical widow who lives on Wisteria Walk, not far from here. Other times he is cared for by Emmeline Vance, a good friend of his mother. When school is out for the summer, I suspect he will spend a great deal of time with me."

"...I'd be delighted to have him visit sometime, he's such a charming boy."

"I believe that can be arranged. I can have Mrs. Figg come by next week and speak with you. I wish you the best."

Petunia managed to smile, though inside she was so... tired. Emotionally exhausted from the news of the night. The constant worry about her nephew and her son did nothing to quell the uneasiness. No, what Petunia needed most was a long night of sleep.

* * *

"Oh! Albus, what a surprise! What brings you here?"

Arabella Figg peered up at Albus curiously, her grey hair swirling around her head in the night breeze. She stepped half-outside before noticing that he was not alone, then hastily bid him inside. The faint aroma of her cabbage perfume reached Minerva's feline nose, and she shook her head as she entered.

"The war is over, Arabella. Lily and James Potter died protecting their son Harry, and Alice and Frank Longbottom were tortured into insanity for information, though their son Neville is unharmed. Let us hope they are the last casualties of the war."

Arabella's hands flew to her mouth. "Those poor dears! All alone in the world, and at such a young age! At least they have each other for support..." She trailed off, muttering about how it was such a tragedy.

Minerva pounced forward, shifting back into her human form, her mouth a thin line. "Don't be ludicrous. They are being raised by family. Separately," she added when Arabella opened her mouth to ask, most likely, if the boys would be raised by the same family member.

"...I see. Well then. Let me go put Acair to bed - will he be staying for two weeks, Albus? - then we can discuss the state of the war more deeply. Is that a new cat I see, Minerva?"

"Yes, this is Khione, also known as Snowy. She belonged to the Potters, and slept through most of the attack on their house."

"Well, hello Snowy," Arabella greeted her with a treat. Khione meowed appreciatively, prompting three other cats to stick their heads out of the dark. Khione leapt forward curiously, sending them scattering. Arabella chuckled. Acair yawned.

* * *

Settling Acair in the guest bedroom took only a few minutes. Tufty, an enormous brown cat who seemed to be 90% fur, was worming his way underneath his pillow. Acair yawned again, closing his eyes. He didn't understand the war that Uncle Albus was so upset about. He just knew it had bothered his parents too, and his grandparents. His parents hadn't been magical, which made staying with Uncle Albus more fun, but... Acair missed his parents. He felt so small and afraid...

Tufty drowned out his fears with a peaceful, relaxing purring. Acair snuggled up inside his blanket and was soon asleep.

* * *

Remus Lupin sat alone at a small table in a dimly lit, rather shabbily built room. Dumbledore had left an hour ago, after telling him with great sorrow that Lily and James were no more. Remus hadn't wanted to believe him, but the absence of the twinkle in his eye was proof that there had been a very serious tragedy. Remus took another sip of firewhiskey.

How could this have happened? Sirius... Sirius had been the very last person Remus would have suspected could be a traitor. Yes, his family had been Dark, but Sirius had been disowned for rebellion against their ideas. Or was that just a ploy?

Dumbledore had offered to leave Harry with him, but Remus had refused. He was too dangerous, too uncontrollable. He couldn't be sure Harry would be safe on full moons, and Remus didn't even have a steady source of income, thanks to the restrictions set by the Ministry. Speaking of which, if the Ministry ever found out that a werewolf was raising a child... he'd be lucky to avoid Azkaban.

Dumbledore had used his floo to get to the Longbottom house, likely to deliver the same bad news. He'd returned minutes later, with the news that Alice and Frank were as good as dead, to live the rest of their lives in St. Mungo's. Dimly, Remus wondered what would become of Peter Pettigrew, his last friend still alive and well... He took another sip of firewhiskey, not knowing that the morning would bring news of his last friend's demise.

 


	2. Prologue II - Beginnings

_Prologue II: Beginnings_

* * *

In the years that followed Harry's adoption by the Dursleys, Petunia dug out her old photo collections of Lily. One photograph she framed and placed on the wall of Harry's bedroom. It hurt to be reminded of her lost sibling, however, and she would avoid the room in the following years.

Despite this issue, Petunia did allow herself to open up to the magical world. As sister to a witch, she had a status somewhat below that of a Squib, which she had learned Mrs. Figg was. She could see the sign at the Leaky Cauldron, for instance, and most muggle-repelling charms had a markedly weaker effect on her. This she learned after Dumbledore invited her to visit Hogwarts over the summer. Petunia was at first offended that he would invite her now when he had rejected her in her youth; however, she soon learned that during summers there was a community there of adult muggles and squibs who had relatives - usually children - who were to attend Hogwarts in coming years. Petunia enjoyed several discussions with the teachers (very few of whom were as settled in their homes as they were in the school) about her sister's years at Hogwarts. There was so much about Lily Petunia had not been able to see growing up. Professors Flitwick and Slughorn were especially vocal in telling of Lily's great aptitude in their subjects. Petunia didn't visit during the following years, but she kept in touch with Slughorn.

Vernon took some time to adjust to the whole new world of magic. He had heard very little about it, and none of it positive, prior to that fateful Halloween night. What little he now was forced to see continuously appalled him, and he tried to avoid it as much as possible.

"They don't even have digital clocks! Their houses are disorganized and crude! How they can live in such a middle-aged society is beyond me! If they're led by a minister they might as well act like it and shape up. Why, I can spot at least six gaping flaws in their economy already, and I haven't even stepped foot inside their bank."

Being the curious man that he was, constantly driven to investigate other people's business, one day he did just that. He went with Dumbledore on a routine inspection of Harry's trust vault, and returned speechless and rather pale. Unable to formulate a coherent sentence, he finally told Petunia that he approved of at least their financial organization, and Petunia later caught him looking over their homeowner records speculatively.

Dumbledore did indeed spend several of his holidays visiting with the family. Acair was adopted by Emmeline Vance a few years later, and she regularly took him to visit the Dursleys at Christmas. Petunia had grown rather fond of him over the years, and was always delighted to see him. He visited Little Whinging several times a year; whether he stayed with Mrs. Figg or in the Dursleys' guest bedroom was almost completely up to chance. As Harry and Dudley grew up, they continually looked forward to seeing him, treating him almost like a cousin.

* * *

Potions Master Severus Snape sat in the dark room beneath Spinner's End, which he had converted into a potions laboratory. Several cauldrons were set up across the far wall, and he was brewing eight different complicated potions simultaneously. Furthermore, each one had been modified from the recipe for maximum effectiveness, in the same way that had brought wonder to the faces of his examiners for his Mastery several years ago. There had been only one other student in his year as capable as he. Lily Potter had aspired to be a Healer, specializing in antidotes and discovery of new potions for treatment.

Thinking of Lily was painful. He dismissed the memory of her from his mind. He'd started learning how to clear his feelings in his youth, when his father had been unwilling to support him. His mother had bid him to stay strong for her, and so he did. At Hogwarts, he was frequently bullied by the other Slytherins in his year for being a half-blood, but he had paid them no more mind, simply taking to avoiding the common room. His aptitude in the darker magics had led to a great deal of positive attention in his house, and anyone who continues disparaging his parentage would meet his formidable wand skills. He'd been taken in by those who planned to become Death Eaters, and the era of his bullying was passed. ...Until, at least, James Potter had taken note of his crowd. The two had never gotten along, but their rivalry wasn't characterized by true hatred. Potter would prank him in ways that didn't bother him, and Severus would retaliate by foiling his other pranks. They played off each other, each trying to prove superiority over the other. Until Severus joined the darker groups. Then Potter had changed, become quite ruthless in his pranks, which were no longer benign. Severus' life had been at stake once, a moment he'd never forget. Through it all, he'd had to learn to not be moved. No matter where he was in life, people would insist on bullying him down. When he'd finally been introduced to Occlumency, he'd discovered that he'd already mastered it over the years. He kept all his problems locked up, never to be faced, never to be healed.

Shrugging off his contemplation of the past, he returned to stirring the cauldron eight stirs clockwise over two minutes. He contemplated instead the new request he'd received from Dumbledore. The accommodations at Hogwarts would be comfortable, he was certain. Much better than Spinner's End. Even if the pay was lousy, he could still market his potions quite effectively, and he'd have access to fresh potion ingredients, thanks to Sprout's greenhouses and Hagrid's creatures in the Forest. On the other hand, was he really cut out to teach? While a N.E.W.T. level class would be a delight to work with, as only they would truly understand the finesse and care required to draw out the desired potion effects, the early years would be a plague of clumsy, misguided idiots. He sighed.

At least he could be somewhat certain that there would be a few intelligent students, who would hopefully make up for the incompetent dunderheads he remembered most vividly from his years as a student.

* * *

Harry was never as spoiled as Dudley; however, both of the boys were raised in a more or less firm but nurturing environment. If Petunia and Vernon were a bit firmer with Harry and a tad more nurturing toward Dudley, it was hardly an issue. Dudley made lots of friends, and they frequently hung out at the playground at the end of the street. Harry preferred to stay in his room and read - Petunia had given him a large bookshelf with all of the "classics," which absorbed a large portion of Harry's time. He was also interested in the mannerisms of Vernon's business meetings and company structure, though he didn't really care for the economics of the system. In fact, Harry helped his uncle with a dilemma at the age of seven: unsure whom to promote to the new department position, Vernon had been creeping toward the department deadline without success, when Harry suggested he promote the one who'd be working for him longer and needed the paycheck more, then make the other one the assistant of the former's former superior.

Still, a bit overwhelmed by the relative wealth of his aunt and uncle, Harry grew incredibly fond of the smaller and more humble home of Mrs. Figg, who told him she had known his parents. Mrs. Figg owned four cats: Tufty, who was more or less a large pile of fluffy brown fur; Mr. Tibbles, a very curious black cat with a white spot on his back; Mr. Paws, a calico cat with fully black paws who spent at most an hour a day awake; and Snowy, a shy but energetic white cat who seemed especially fond of Harry. Sometimes a fifth cat, an unusually stern-looking tabby, could be seen sitting almost haughtily on one of the chairs, but Mrs. Figg could never give a name to it, and she was always quite amused to find it sitting there.

As Mrs. Figg was a squib, she frequently referenced the magical world, though she always painted it as some alien world just around the corner. Sometimes an actual witch, Mrs. Vance, would suddenly appear from her fireplace, proving quite a surprise for Harry. She would tell him fanciful tales of mundane magical life; its similarities to his own life often ignited a curiosity within him, but Aunt Petunia told him each time that he was not to venture into Wizarding Britain until he was older. This grated on Harry to no end, and he was seriously contemplating running off to go see what the magical world contained. He never carried his plans through, fortunately.

* * *

In a house far away from Little Whinging, near the village of Ottery St. Catchpole, a family quite unlike the Dursleys sat down to eat. The table was quite large, loud, and chaotic - for the Weasley family had nine mouths to feed.

At the moment, the family was celebrating. The owls from Hogwarts had arrived, delivering three shiny new badges: Charlie, the second oldest, had become Prefect and Quidditch Captain for Gryffindor, and his elder brother Bill was now Head boy.

Molly sobbed with sentimental pride, pulling Bill into a hug which nearly knocked his plate out of his hands. "I'm so proud... My sons, Head Boy, and Quidditch Captain! This calls for something special. I'll pick something up for each of you when I go into Diagon Alley. What would you like, Bill, an owl? A new set of dress robes?"

"Can I have a pair of new boots? My old ones are getting shabby again already, so I thought about getting something more durable... Dragonhide, maybe?"

Molly pursed her lips, estimating the cost. "I think we can afford a set of secondhand dragonhide boots. If you can get a job by the end of the summer you can have a pair of new ones. And you, Charlie, what would you like? A new broom, perhaps?"

"Nah, my broom's fine. What I'd really like is an Ollivander wand. I know his wands cost at least five galleons, but it'd be a lot more useful to me - I have O.W.L.s this year, and no offense, but this wand isn't very useful in my hands. Ollivander's the best in the world for wands."

Molly frowned. "Alright, but you'd better do well on your O.W.L.s. We'll go visit Diagon Alley this weekend. Five galleons is a lot."

Percy piped up from the corner, "When I'm made prefect, can I get an owl? Ron can have Scabbers then, he'll be a first year."

"We'll see, dear. Anyone want seconds?"

A chorus of agreement arose from the people sitting around the table as Molly Weasley piled more food onto their plates.

* * *

From the corner of the room, in his cage, Scabbers the rat watched lazily. He knew Percy would give him some of the delicious meal when the family was done. Altogether, life as a rat wasn't unpleasant. He was cared for and had no responsibilities, he was in no danger... Eventually, Harry Potter would come to Hogwarts, and his master would surely be proud of him for laying such clever plans...

He'd followed his orders so perfectly. He'd sown distrust among his friends - and the entire Order - so that Lily was suspected as a spy for Severus, Remus' lycanthropy saw him excluded, and Sirius would be a scapegoat for the murder. The Death Eaters in the ministry had pulled strings to get Sirius incarcerated without a trial without Dumbledore noticing, and then they'd attempted to send Harry to a proper pureblood home. Unfortunately, he'd already been taken by then, but 'Scabbers' had made sure none of the Order would be able to raise him. Now his plans centered on slowly leading the 'light' side to darkness, while living off of them like a lazy parasite.

Yes, life certainly was good to be a rat.

* * *

Remus Lupin had become adjusted to his life. His attempts to live in the Wizarding World had been met with naught but futility and suffering, as several laws had been placed by the Ministry that effectively forced him to live elsewhere. He had moved barely a month after the war had ended, cutting off all contact with wizards. Anyone who attempted to contact him in a non-Muggle way would be met with very little success, and tracing his Wizarding identity would end up in a lack of present information. He'd been living in a quiet, small apartment a bit out of the way for years, and had gotten himself a job at a bookstore. It was a job he truly enjoyed - he'd always been the only one of the Marauders to find comfort in books and pleasure in reading.

He knew the war was over, but also that Voldemort would likely be returning someday. When that day came, he'd seek out Dumbledore again. Or maybe he wouldn't. He'd grown used to a quiet life, and he'd never been the best when it came to fighting. In his old age (he laughed bitterly to himself; thirty years old was hardly old age) he'd grown weary and physically weaker than he had been. He probably hadn't been eating properly either, and his scars from the last full moon stood out on his gaunt skin. He sighed.

If worst came to worst, he could flee the country. But what would James have said about that?  _It doesn't matter what he'd think, now that he's dead._  Remus sighed.

If he could find a way to make himself useful and protect Harry, he would do so. Until he was needed, he would keep his head down. He'd become very good at that in the years since James and Lily had died.

* * *

Augusta Longbottom, wearing a thick woolen sweater, grabbed her grandson's hand to slow him down. "Careful, Neville. Slow down before you crash into someone." Neville obliged, altering his pace so that he walked in step beside her.

They were on the fourth floor of St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries, approaching the Janus Thickey Ward. Augusta stopped to talk with a mediwizard, who guarded the door in his uniform of pearl white and lime green. Neville's face grew a bit more solemn, and Augusta patted his shoulder.

Minutes later, they were admitted into the ward. Neville led the way eagerly to the bright room where his parents were to live out the rest of their lives, greeting them with a hug. Augusta stood back, blinking away tears. Though they might not recognize him as their son, they treated him with warmth and love that was only impeded by their lack of speech and their slow, jerky movements.

Alice and Frank Longbottom had been tortured into insanity trying to protect their son. Neville had been one of two possible targets of a prophecy, the details of which Augusta had never been told. Though they had been placed under the Fidelius charm, Lily had been their Secret-Keeper. Everyone had thought Lily's house was under the greatest possible protection.

If Augusta had known how soon the Dark Lord would've fallen, she wouldn't have protested being Secret Keeper and staying somewhere safe. She had initially worried that old age would claim her too soon, but she'd ended up fine. The Death Eaters must have been waiting for the wards to fall, and-

Augusta wiped away a tear with a raggedy handkerchief. Visiting Frank and Alice always made her sentimental. She turned back to what Neville was saying.

"...and Uncle Algie visited again, he was still trying to get me to prove that I'm a wizard. Aunt Enid's fed up with it, she always keeps a close eye on him. He bought me a toad last week when I managed to light one of the candles when he extinguished all the lights in the middle of a thunderstorm, but Gran thinks Enid lit it. Enid didn't have her wand, though."

Frank looked fondly at his son, though he didn't show any signs of comprehending his words. Alice played with something Neville had handed her, probably a puzzle of some sort.

"Oh, and I'm almost old enough to go to Hogwarts, just one more year of waiting. I might be in Gryffindor like you, Dad, but I might also be in Hufflepuff like Mum. When I go to Hogwarts, if I'm not a Squib, I'll do my best to be a great student like you. And I already have a pet to keep me company, but I heard almost everybody makes friends on the train. I named him Trevor. The toad, I mean. He's real nice, but he always gets lost. He should be... Um. Gran? ...I can't find Trevor."

Augusta sighed, "I'll go see if one of the mediwizards has found him."


	3. Chapter I - Number Four, Privet Drive

_Chapter I: Number Four, Privet Drive_

* * *

You know that moment, just before the sunrise? When the clouds are lit up by the warm hints of a new dawn, lingering just out of reach? That moment is truly beautiful. Though it seems a timeless eternity to anyone who happens to capture a glimpse of it, in reality it is but a single fleeting instant - an extraordinarily magical instant of immaculate silence. This particular morning was a typical summer morning, with light, distant clouds floating away far above Harry's window. The birds had not yet begun their serenade of the sunrise; or perhaps they had, but there were none who happened to be singing on Privet Drive. The air from outside was refreshingly warm, in a way that made Harry wish to go back to sleep. He was too wide awake for such a feat, however, and so he sat, staring out the window, waiting for someone else to wake up. Like any other silence, this must be broken. And so it was that the silence of the morning was broken by the soft pattering of footsteps outside the door.

Harry opened the door and crept out to see Aunt Petunia making herself a cup of coffee. This was odd: Aunt Petunia hated getting out of bed before noon. He opened his mouth to ask what she was doing up so early, and she shushed him quietly. "It's Dudley's birthday, and I want to make it special. Since you're up, you can help. Quietly bring the presents down from where they're hidden in the guest bedroom." Harry nodded, getting to work. Aunt Petunia went into the kitchen and started getting ready to cook an especially large breakfast. Harry personally thought Dudley didn't need it, as he was already starting to grow slightly larger than the average 11-year old.

Harry returned downstairs with an armful of presents and stacked them neatly on the table in the lounge. In the kitchen, Aunt Petunia was staring at the cooking instructions for a box of biscuits in confusion - she'd never been the best at cooking, leaving it to Uncle Vernon in all but the most dire of cases. "I can help, if you want," Harrry offered. Petunia looked at him, then nodded warily.

Two hours later, when the big feast-like breakfast was done and the table was marvelously set, the guests arrived. First was Piers Polkiss, an incredibly obnoxious, unpleasant boy who liked taking things from others and hiding them. He was Dudley's best friend, though, so he was invited to celebrate. Next came Acair Vance with Mrs. Figg. Most of the time, Dudley and his friends would go on an outing with Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon, leaving Harry in the care of Mrs. Figg if he chose not to accompany them. Acair would always choose to stay at Mrs. Figg's with him.

In the meanwhile, Dudley yawned and stretched, finally waking up. His other two friends had arrived by the time the birthday boy found his way downstairs to see the presents he'd been hoping for. However, he was distracted from counting his twelve presents by the scent of bacon in the next room. Walking into the kitchen, he saw his guests and immediately entered a conversation too rapid for Harry to follow. They didn't stop talking when their plates were handed to them. Instead they went around in a circle and took turns talking instead of eating. Harry was the only one not eating, as he'd had his fill before any guests had even arrived. Seeing him standing in the corner, Mrs. Figg walked over to him.

"Hello, Harry. How have you been lately? Your aunt was just telling me what a big help you've been with the breakfast."

Harry nodded. "Aunt Petunia's hopeless at cooking." Mrs. Figg chuckled, then brushed a wisp of gray hair away from her face.

"Do your aunt and uncle have any plans for today?"

"Yes, they're going to the zoo. Could you take Acair and me to the zoo while they're gone?"

Mrs. Figg frowned. "Harry, your aunt and uncle are supposed to take care of you. If you want to go to the zoo with them, just ask. If they won't let you, I'll tell Dumbledore and we'll get the matter settled."

"No, no, it's just... It's Dudley's birthday, and Dudley would rather spend the day with his parents and his friends. If I was there, I'd just sort of be an outsider, instead of enjoying his birthday."

Mrs. Figg smiled sadly as she answered, "Well... My eyesight's too poor for me to drive hardly anywhere these days. In a few years, you'll be driving me to the zoo on my birthday. If you don't want to go with your aunt and uncle, and they don't mind you staying at my house for the day, we can find something else to do."

Harry breathed a sigh of relief. He got along fine with Dudley, but his friends were an unpleasant lot. He'd be much happier relaxing with a cat and watching television or reading. He crept over to where Uncle Vernon stood watching over Dudley and his friends.

"Uncle Vernon, would it be alright if I stay with Mrs. Figg for the day?"

He grunted, "Just remember to be back for the party this evening. Should I fix you a lunch?"

Harry shuddered, thinking of Mrs. Figg's stale cabbage muffins. "Yes please."

Uncle Vernon grunted again, heading into the kitchen and pulling a log of salami out of the fridge. Harry watched curiously as he sliced a few thin slices and laid them aside, pulling a bun from another shelf and deftly sawing it in two. Harry hoped to one day be as good at cooking as Uncle Vernon. He'd decided when he grew up he'd be a chef. A chef that specialized in salami sandwiches and served them to wizards.

Uncle Vernon finished making the last of the sandwiches and put them in a basket. Aunt Petunia had distracted Dudley from the presents with stories of her times at the zoo; noticing that they were ready to go, Uncle Vernon went over to help load up the car. Before he left, he told Harry, "Thank you for your assistance with breakfast. The way you seasoned the eggs was genius." Harry grinned and gave his uncle a hug. Uncle Vernon stood there awkwardly. He never seemed to know how to respond to hugs, even those from Aunt Petunia.

Uncle Vernon climbed in his car and drove off as Harry, Acair, and Mrs. Figg began their trek to Wisteria Walk.

* * *

Harry was settled on the couch with Mr. Tibbles in his lap. He was surprised to see the new addition to her living room: Mrs. Figg apparently had finally given in to Acair's pleas and purchased a newer television. Naturally, she bought the largest she could find, as it was "easiest on these aging eyes." Harry suspected a large portion of the money had come from Mrs. Vance and her family. Mrs. Figg seemed like the kind of person who didn't make much for a living. This raised the speculation - how did she make a living?

"I used to raise kneazles," she replied. "Very tricky, that. You need a ministry license to own one. I'd cross-breed 'em with cats and sell the part-kneazles to wizards they liked. Not the other way around, mind you. Kneazles are famous for their intelligence, and can be pretty picky about who they let own them. Anyway, that was the past. I'm retired now, and as an associate of Dumbledore I get retirement money to live on."

Harry was interested in learning more about these kneazles, and his interest in watching the television faded to nothing. For the next two hours he, Acair, and Mrs. Figg looked through old picture books displaying dozens of cats and kneazles, each of which Mrs. Figg remembered fondly. Their activity was interrupted by the rumbling of Harry's stomach, prompting him to pull out the sandwiches. "Are you hungry, Mrs. Figg? There's one for you too. And Acair."

Mrs. Figg smiled at Harry's generosity and kindness, and the three stopped for lunch.

* * *

Evening approached, and Mrs. Figg brought Harry back to the Dursleys' house for cake and presents. Harry had gotten for Dudley a new hat, which he had been given by a teacher at the end of school. Dudley also received a bicycle, which Harry knew Dudley would never use, three new computer games, and a box of candy. After his friends left, Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon sat down with him on the couch to spend birthday time watching a movie. Harry sighed and retreated to his room. Feeling acute loneliness, he drifted off to sleep early.


	4. Chapter II: Harry's Birthday

_Chapter II: Harry's Birthday_

* * *

The rest of the summer passed without much of note occurring. Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon had gone around praising Dudley for his enrollment in the prestigious-but-obscure Smeltings, at which he was only accepted by having several well-written letters of recommendation by several skilled alumni who were correspondents of Uncle Vernon. Harry was happy for Dudley, but more preoccupied with his personal concerns.

Harry had not been given any letters of recommendation. He had not purchased the extravagant uniform. He had not even been told why, which irked him most of all. When the gardening club asked him where he would be schooling next year when he walked in to deliver scones, Aunt Petunia had told them cheerfully that he would be going to a sort of university for the gifted youth. At a dinner party hosted for a retiring senior manager, Uncle Vernon had said, "The boys are both very bright, but their talents lie in different areas, and they have different styles of learning. Dudley will be going to Smeltings," he patted his son's arm proudly, "while Harry here will be attending a higher-level institution up in Scotland."

When Harry complained of the situation to Mrs. Figg, she tried to sympathize. She wasn't very good at it, though, as her eyes betrayed unfathomable amusement. Harry was certain that whatever was going on, Mrs. Figg knew about it, which made him feel slightly better. Mrs. Figg would never acquiesce with something that went against Harry's best interests. Though the affections of his Aunt and Uncle were very superficial, Harry trusted Mrs. Figg.

When he directly asked his Aunt and Uncle, they made a vague gesture and commented that, if he was accepted, his letter would arrive before September. This seemed to Harry an unreasonable amount of time to wait, and his anxiety over his education consumed him entirely. He almost forgot his birthday was drawing near, and would have neglected it entirely if Uncle Vernon hadn't told him to make a point of getting a good night's sleep, as tomorrow would be a very big day.

It was far bigger than Harry could have ever imagined.

* * *

Harry's birthdays were very different from Dudley's birthdays. Dudley was energetic (which was not to say he was fit) and expressive, and had several friends at school. He loved going places and seeing new things, so long as they were exciting. He always knew exactly what he wanted, and appreciated his presents boisterously.

Harry was quiet, reclusive. His friends at school were the quiet sort, which was not to say they were bookworms. Harry did enjoy reading occasionally, but was by no means a voracious reader. His friends had never visited his house; he talked to them only at school. When it came to birthdays, a quieter get-together would suffice for Harry. He would bake his own birthday cake (even though Uncle Vernon would always be assigned to help him, being able to do it alone was a spot of pride for Harry) and they'd gather around the table to eat it while it was still warm. When he started learning to cook, Uncle Vernon would do most of the work, with Harry being a sort of obstacle. After years of practice, however, Harry was fully capable of completing it alone.

After the cake had been eaten, his Aunt and Uncle would give him a gift each. Sometimes Dudley would give him something as well, which Harry personally found amusing. His efforts were well-intentioned, but Dudley's gifts were things that Dudley would enjoy if he were the recipient.

An hour or two later, when all the excitement had passed, Harry would go over to Mrs. Figg's house. Throughout his youth, Mrs. Figg seemed like another relative to him, like a grandmother. When he mentioned this to her one day, she laughed a bit, saying, "Do I really look that old to you?" Harry could tell that she was happy to hear how much he trusted her, however.

Today, instead of Acair running to the door to wish Harry a happy birthday, Mrs. Figg opened the door with an eager gleam in her eyes. "Did you get your letter yet?" she asked excitedly. Harry stared back at her perplexedly and she deflated, looking somewhat disappointed. "Go back home and check the mail, then come back this evening."

Harry returned to Number Four, Privet Drive to find his aunt and uncle sitting on the couch, wearing rather fixed expressions on their faces. When he came in, they turned to look at him. Aunt Petunia looked afraid, like she would if she saw a rat crawl out from beneath a cabinet. Uncle Vernon looked slightly guilty, as if he had lied to his wife or boss and was beginning to fear the consequences.

Harry's eyes were drawn not to his Aunt and Uncle, but to the tall, elderly woman who sat on the rocking chair in the corner of the room. Her face was stern, even as it was wrinkled, and her piercing eyes told him she was very wise, but also very quick. She wore a long, robelike gown of emerald green and sapphire blue over a long black shirt that went all the way up her neck and down to her wrists. A tartan carpetbag, also in blue and green, rested near her feet. She wore small rectangular glasses of delicate bronze and a tall, pointed emerald-green hat, with a royal blue brim.

In other words, she was the perfect picture of a witch.

* * *

Minerva waited for Harry to return. She had arrived via fireplace, of course, and had been disappointed to find the boy had just left. She had not attempted to make small talk with the boy's guardians, but merely informed them of the excursion that would await. When she finished speaking, they both adopted a rather rigid expression that made her very uncomfortable to stare at. The sound of the door opening was a relief.

As Harry walked into the room, Petunia and Vernon snapped their heads up to meet him. Minerva shook her head sadly; Albus had tried his best to open them up to the magical world, and Minerva herself sometimes stopped by Mrs. Figg's, in her feline form, to check up on him. Harry knew about wizards and witches, yes, and he had pictures of his parents. There was just one detail Petunia and Vernon forgot to tell him.

"Good afternoon. I am Minerva McGonagall, professor of Transfiguration at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. I expect this may come as a bit of a surprise to you, but as it is your eleventh birthday I believe it is time you were told. You're a wizard, Harry."

Harry gaped. Minerva couldn't blame him; she knew she'd been a bit too forward. When she went to greet Muggleborns, she was far more subtle and persuasive. Harry knew about magic, though, and should have been more open to the idea. Sure enough, after a few seconds of staring, Harry looked around. "Really? But… I'm just Harry. I…" he trailed off, looking at his aunt and uncle. Petunia's face resembled that sheepish guilt of a student who conveniently neglected to mention that his toad had exploded. Vernon's face was a mix of proud and disgruntled. Lovely.

Minerva berated herself addressing Harry so directly, but she could not think of anything she could say now to set the boy's nerves. Instead, she silently handed him a letter from her carpetbag, hoping he would at least not think it a hoax. The envelope was blank, but on the front it was sealed with the official Hogwarts seal – the silhouette of the Sorting Hat – in dark purple wax. Harry took it eagerly and scanned the greeting letter, then pulled the second piece of paper from the envelope. After perusing it for a minute, he gaped and gestured at himself and the letter blankly. Then his face darted back and forth between her and his aunt.

Finally, he swallowed and asked excitedly, "So can we go get my stuff now, Professor McGonagall?" Minerva smiled, inwardly breathing a sigh of relief.

"Yes, let us be off. We will have to take transportation to London, and we must purchase some Floo Powder for your home." A shuffling noise behind her caused her to turn around just as Petunia grabbed her shoulder.

"Minerva," Petunia said in what was probably the most courteous voice she could manage, as laced with anxiety as it was. "If you are leaving through the front, might I ask... Do put on a different manner of coat before you leave, if you would. I mean no offense," she trailed off, glancing askance at the elderly witch's quite distinctive appearance.

Minerva's robelike gown of sapphire and emerald quickly transformed into a skirt of professional length and a vest over her black turtleneck sweater. Her hat she stowed in her carpetbag, which she shrank slightly. Petunia kept her composure as she thanked her, relief evident on her face. Minerva sighed and walked out the door with Harry after a solemn promise to bring him home by dinner, whenever that would be.

* * *

It was soon afterward that Harry found himself in front of a pub, The Leaky Cauldron. He turned to look down the busy street, while Professor McGonagall muttered to herself. Finally she turned to face him, laying a hand on his forehead. She spoke something that he could not hear, and he felt a tingling in his forehead. What was going on?

"Now, when we enter, please refrain from announcing your identity. There is a lot you must learn about your past before you are ready." Professor McGonagall instructed him. He nodded, not fully understanding the meaning, but grasping the importance of the words. This woman was not the kind of woman to joke around.

When they entered the ramshackle building, the bartender called out to Harry's chaperone in greeting. "The usual, Minerva?" he asked familiarly. The patrons of the pub looked up, but apparently Professor McGonagall's presence here was nothing to take special note of, as they quickly looked back down.

"Not now, Tom. I have a minor with me," she replied, gesturing to Harry.

"Ah. Hogwarts, I presume? Well, lad, listen well to your Professor McGonagall, because you only get your first glimpse once." His words were impersonal, like the kind of sentiment one tosses around casually once one is accustomed to the Magical life, but his words filled Harry with anticipation. He looked around the Leaky Cauldron to impress the memory and keep it secure, forever, as the defining moment of his youthful life. Professor McGonagall looked back at him impatiently as he glanced around the room, so he hurried out the back.

The door led to a walled-off alleyway that by all logic should not have fit there. Harry was about to question what was so magical about it – he saw nothing there but some weeds and a trash can – when Professor McGonagall pulled out her wand and tapped thrice on a very particular brick.

The brick moved backwards, appearing to fall out of the wall. Other bricks followed, until through the holes Harry could see that they weren't falling. Rather, they were folding in on themselves to create an archway. Professor McGonagall's outfit was restored to its original form.

"Welcome," she said to Harry as he gazed at the thriving street full of witches and wizards, "to Diagon Alley."


	5. Chapter III: Obliviate

_Chapter III: Obliviate_

* * *

"First," Professor McGonagall told him, "we will retrieve your money. The Wizarding bank is called Gringotts, and it is staffed by goblins. Do not be alarmed." Harry's eyes widened at the mention of goblins. Goblins were real! Yes, of course they were, wasn't that what Mrs. Vance had told him? But even though he'd believed the stories, they were always like a dream to him. His life was so mundane with the Dursleys. This was a miracle!

Harry was torn between a desire to rush toward the giant white building in the distance that Professor McGonagall had pointed out was the bank and a desire to stand still and look everywhere around him. He wanted to absorb the magical world in its entirety, to catch every detail and savor it.

The shops were antiquated and quaint, nothing at all like the modern architecture that was so prevalent in nonmagical society. Harry guessed it was because with magic, there was no need to exchange the buildings for more structurally stable ones. If magic could keep things neat, tidy, and safe, then there was no need to advance to something that looked safe as well.

As Professor McGonagall walked down the road, a man dressed all in black approached her. He looked villainous in his attire, and his expression didn't help. He wore a bored, scowling look, as if he was resigning himself to a life of misery. Was he a vampire?

"Good morning, Severus. You look pleasant today," Professor McGonagall greeted him.

"Yes, it has been very tolerable today. I received the latest shipment of ingredients, and found, to my considerable delight, that the dragon blood was for once preserved  _properly_." The man's voice was not exactly unpleasant, but it was tinged with so many subtle layers of expression that Harry could not tell if he was complaining or overjoyed.

"That's always a surprise," Professor McGonagall commented dryly. "Severus, I'm afraid I don't have time to chat here. I'm working with a student. This is Professor Snape, the Potions Master at Hogwarts."

Harry nodded and was about to introduce himself, but Professor McGonagall made a quieting motion and sought to drag him along. However, Professor Snape caught his eye. The man blinked and leaned back sharply, mouthing the name "Harry Potter". This was odd. How exactly did Professor Snape know about him? And why had the man only recognized him after making eye contact?

"Disguising him, I see?" Professor Snape commented, a dangerous hint to his voice.

"Now, now. Stay civil, Severus. He isn't his father. And for that matter, he isn't his mother either. He didn't grow up with them, so don't expect him to act like  _either_  of them." Professor McGonagall warned.

"What am I to expect from him, then? A Scottish accent? An aptitude with Transfiguration? Perhaps a fondness for cats?"

"Jealousy is unbecoming on you, Severus. He's staying with family, which is only proper."

Professor Snape's eyes glittered, but Harry could not begin to discern emotion. "He's been raised a Muggle, then. Good," he finally judged. "Mr. Potter, I look forward to seeing you at Hogwarts." He nodded his head jerkily, then stormed off, his black cloak billowing behind him.

Professor McGonagall watched him leave, a fierce expression on her face. "Be wary of him," she warned Harry. "He hated your father, and loved your mother. I don't know if he ever forgave either of them."

"He knew my parents?" Harry asked interestedly.

"Yes. Most teachers did. If you want stories or pictures, I don't suggest you go to him. He likes to pretend his years at Hogwarts never existed. If I didn't know how cautious the man is, I'd think he obliviated his memories."

Harry frowned. "Obliviate?"

* * *

"Obliviate," Charity whispered, pointing her wand at the woman lying on the ground. Normally obliviation was reserved for magical outbursts caused by grown witches and wizards. It was simply too much work to deal with every single instance of accidental magic caused by muggleborns.

However, this particular muggleborn showed no sign of confusion or surprise. Instead, she calmly asked, "Are you going to teach me?" when Charity turned toward her.

Charity blinked. The girl didn't know about Hogwarts yet, which meant she wasn't old enough to be taught. "I beg your pardon?"-

"You should. Those are my parents whose memories you're altering," she pointed out in a matter-of-fact tone. "Even if you make me forget this instance, it'll happen again. I'll only forget the incident, and not my suspicions – and the exhaustive research that led up to it."

"So this was intentional," Charity whispered, lowering her wand to her side. A chill ran up her spine. This was delicate business.

"Yes. My suspicions have been confirmed. I don't see that you have much choice. I have to be taught, or I'm a liability." The girl's tone was irritatingly stuck-up. She would surely be a Slytherin when her letter came.

"Sit down and stop threatening me, child, or this might get unpleasant. Now, how old are you?"

"Eleven years old this September," the girl replied proudly.

"That's a problem, then. The school accepts people each year who turn eleven by July 31. You'll have to wait until next year, I'm afraid."

The girl was quite taken aback by this. "I think you'll find I'm rather intelligent for my age," she protested. "And besides, now that I know about magic, I'll have to learn. Or else I'll simply have to teach myself, and that would be problematic."

"You can't teach yourself magic," Charity said flatly. "You don't have a wand."

"I didn't need a wand to cause this, now did I?" the girl asked, arching an eyebrow. Impudent child.

Charity sighed, clutching her face in her hands. "Very well. I suppose the Headmaster might make an exception for you. Come on."


	6. Chapter IV: The Hogwarts Express

_Chapter IV: The Hogwarts Express_

* * *

Harry's adventure through Diagon Alley was exceptionally uneventful. He still gaped at everything magical he laid eyes on, which was everything. Professor McGonagall explained that she had placed upon him a disguise, for fear he might be recognized, although she did not explain why that concerned her. She did buy him a book about the Wizarding War and the fall of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, which she told him was absolutely essential for him to study. Other than that, the excursion passed without anything of note happening. Professor McGonagall hurried him through his list of school supplies just like any teacher would.

When Harry returned to Mrs. Figg's house that evening, beladen with all his magical textbooks and supplies, Professor McGonagall and Mrs. Figg announced that they had a birthday present for him.

"This is Khione," Professor McGonagall told him, handing him Mrs. Figg's white cat.

"Her name is Snowy, isn't it?" Harry asked confusedly.

Professor McGonagall shot a glare at Mrs. Figg. "No, that was just a nickname. Until she was taken in by Mrs. Figg. Khione belonged to your parents, and now she's being returned to you. Treat her well, Harry."

Harry inspected Khione more closely. "That explains why she was always so nice to me. She knew me." A sudden thought struck him. "Aunt Petunia doesn't like pets, though. They make messes, and some of the gardening club might be allergic."

"Doesn't Dudley have a pet turtle?" Mrs. Figg asked absently, but her eyes were sharp. Mrs. Figg liked to appear harmless and absent-minded, especially when talking about Harry's well-being, but Harry had started learning how to look closely for the smallest signs of emotion.

"The turtle stays in his room at all times, though," Harry pointed out. "I doubt a cat would be as easy to keep hidden." Aunt Petunia nearly had a fit when Uncle Vernon brought the turtle home for Dudley, and she had immediately established rules for it.

Mrs. Figg always insisted that Harry and Dudley should be equal, no matter how many times Harry had pointed out that he was just the nephew, while Dudley was the son. Mrs. Figg seemed to think he should have become Harry Dursley. Harry disagreed.

"Khione can stay over here during the summers, and over holidays if you wish to return home," Professor McGonagall decided quickly. "Now, your relatives have been instructed on how to take you to the platform on September 1. They have the ticket and all the necessary information at your house for you. Happy birthday, Harry, and thank you." She dispelled Harry's disguise, smiled kindly, and disappeared with a quiet "pop".

* * *

The next month passed more or less as every month before. Harry spent more time than ever at Mrs. Figg's house, reading his textbooks hungrily. He didn't understand it, and didn't bother trying to understand it, but just reveled in the fact that he was in fact a wizard.

As if understanding what had transpired on Harry's birthday, Khione stayed near him most days. She was particularly attached for a cat, Harry thought, even if she did nothing more than sit near him while he read.

He read about the fall of Voldemort, and learned how he'd earned his scar. He felt empty, reading about his parents' deaths. Why was it celebrated as a victory? Why? It should have been mourned. But then, thousands of people died in the war. Why should Harry selfishly put his parents' sacrifice above the others'?

It wasn't fair, he decided. He'd just accept that and move on. And if, as the book had insinuated, the villain was not truly dead, then he'd extract revenge when the time came. That was really all he could do about that.

* * *

When Aunt Petunia brought Harry to Platform 9 3/4 and bid him farewell with a dismissive hug, Harry felt like he was finally traveling back to a childhood home for the first time in years.

With Khione beside him and a train ride to a magical school ahead of him, Harry boarded the train. He found that he was one of the last to board, with most compartments being taken already. He looked through several compartment windows until he found one occupied by only one boy about his age. Harry entered hesitantly.

The boy was thin, with very thin features. His face was covered in freckles, and his hair was a messy orange. He was lounging back reading a magazine about "quidditch", whatever that was. The boy looked up when Harry opened the door.

"Can I have a seat here? Everywhere else is full," Harry asked before stepping in when the boy nodded. "Are you a first year?"

"Yeah, you?"

"Yes. I'm a bit nervous."

"What's there to be nervous about? You just go to Hogwarts and get sorted into your house, that's all."

"The magical world is just so amazing," Harry explained. "It makes me nervous because I don't know much about it,"

"Oh, you're muggle-born? S'alright. You'll still fit in a House."

"How are you sorted into the Houses?"

"Well, I can't exactly say, seeing as I haven't been sorted before. My brothers tell me it hurts a lot, but I think they're lying."

Harry's heart skipped. It would hurt? That was about as vague as the books had been about the Sorting, but far, far worse to hear. "Why do you think they're lying?"

"Cause they always lie. They try to prank me all the time. If they say something, you can usually assume the opposite of the thing they say is the thing that's true."

"Oh… So they've all been sorted, then?"

"Yeah. All into Gryffindor."

"The home of courage and chivalry?"

"Yeah. Although for them it's more like just daredevil boldness. Nobody lives up to the mythology stereotypes."

"What do you mean?"

"Well," the redhead explained, sitting forward, "I'm assuming you know about the houses from your books. It calls Gryffindor the home of courage and chivalry, probably describes Ravenclaw as the dwelling place of the curious, says something about Hufflepuffs and kindness, loyalty, integrity, and all that, and that Slytherin houses the cunning and ambitious."

"Yes, something like that," Harry agreed.

"Those are supposedly the ideals, as chosen by the Founders themselves. Most people think that Gryffindors are reckless, Raveclaws are bookworms, Hufflepuffs are dreamers, and Slytherins are evil."

Before the redhead could finish his speech, the door was flung open by a thin, pointed boy with hair so blond it may as well have been white. "Slytherins are evil? Rubbish. I should have known that would be something you would say."

"Oh, do you two know each other?" Harry asked hurriedly. "I'm sorry, I won't get in your way."

"Don't leave just yet," the redhead warned. "I know him by reputation. He's Malfoy,"

"And you must be a Weasley," Malfoy sneered. "I came in here because my father saw fit to inform me that Harry Potter would be attending Hogwarts this year. I need to ask you if you've seen him."

"I haven't seen him on the train," Harry said, hiding a grin. "But Weasley here has."

"Really? Where?" Malfoy demanded.

Weasley looked puzzled. "I haven't seen anyone except… OH!" He burst into laughter, and Harry's grin could no longer be hidden. For an instant Malfoy's face was confused as well, before it became stormy.

Malfoy smoothed his face into an arrogant glower before speaking again. "Harry Potter. I've come to extend my friendship to you. You should be grateful. You won't be made to hang around this idiot for lack of connections."

"Who knows?" Harry replied. "Maybe he and I will be in the same house, and then what will I do?"

Malfoy stopped to think. "Well, as loathe as I am to consider being friends with a Gryffindor, I would promise to at least give you some respite when you don't have to be in the dormitory."

"But what if he's not a Gryffindor? What if we're both put in Hufflepuff?"

Malfoy shuddered at the mention of Hufflepuff house. "The offer stands."

"What if you two are in the same house, then? What if you're both in Hufflepuff and I'm in Ravenclaw?"

Malfoy's face broke into panic. Absolute terror was quickly replaced with ire. "If you're trying to mock me, Potter, rest assured I get the message. Spurning my offer is one of the worst decisions you could make."

"I didn't mean anything like that," Harry said hastily. "I'm just having a bit of harmless fun. Would you terribly hate being placed in Ravenclaw, though?"

Malfoy paused, frown fading. "Apology accepted. Ravenclaw wouldn't be as condemning as Gryffindor or Hufflepuff, but I will most surely be placed in Slytherin. You'll probably be a Gryffindor, like your parents."

"Why do people think all Slytherins are evil?" Harry asked innocently.

"Because of the War," Weasley replied. "Surely you know about that, you helped end it."

"He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named was a Slytherin," Malfoy elaborated. "It stands to reason that he chose followers he communicated easily with, and who would be more convenient than his housemates? So many Slytherins of a generation joined the wrong side of the war, and everyone else learned that essentially they all were evil."

"The prejudiced Gryffindors and Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs that survived the war had loved ones die, and were still bitter about it. They made sure to tell their kids all about the war, and the people they knew, and if the killer was known they told their kids all about them too. And in many cases, the person was a Slytherin," Weasley pitched in. Malfoy glared at him, but didn't correct anything, so Harry assumed the information was at least accurate.

Malfoy took back the role of the lecturer. "It didn't help that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named basically bragged about his connection to Salazar Slytherin at every opportunity. The serpent, which for centuries had been a symbol of cunning and almost wisdom when concerning politics, became a symbol of death. He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named and his followers would cast the Dark Mark in the sky to mark a triumph – a horror that haunts the dreams of the veterans. Phobia of snakes is more common this generation than any before, at least among the Wizarding World."

"So now all the true Slytherins – or rather, everyone who is truly cunning and wants to end up in a position of power," Weasley finished, "asks to be placed in a different house. Slytherin's reputation fell so badly that anyone with a drop of intelligence asks to go to Ravenclaw instead of Slytherin."

"Which only makes it worse!" Malfoy exploded. "That's the worst possible thing they can do! I understand they don't want to suffer from stereotyping, but it means only the ambitious above all else are put in Slytherin. The children who are ambitious and lack the brains to fulfill their ambition. They'd make good minions, surely, which is why none of the adult Slytherins complain. We'd need a generation of people to reform the opinion of our house, which is why I'm adamant that I'll go to Slytherin. I'll see my name besmirched if I must, but I intend to do something!"

After this, Weasley made a derogatory comment against Malfoy's father, and Malfoy responded in kind, and they spoke of blood feuds and of historical events that Harry couldn't remember in any of his books, except maybe from when he had skimmed  _Hogwarts: A History._  He decided to leave Malfoy and Weasley to fight and make up, and went to go find a less eventful compartment.

When he looked inside one he found it filled with older teenagers, mostly girls. One spoke up through the door, "Ooh, look at the handsome little first year!" She waved and grinned flirtatiously, and Harry blushed and ran off. He slowed when he realized that they weren't going to follow him, and he looked into the nearby compartments. One was filled with boys who looked like adults reading the newspaper – they had to be at least seventeen! The next held four younger kids who looked to be Harry's own age. There was still space, though, so Harry decided asking to join would be preferable to searching the rest of the train.

"I think Hufflepuff is seriously undervalued. My Aunt is proof that being in Hufflepuff doesn't make you worthless. People think that because Helga valued hard work and determination and honesty means we're destined to become the background laborers of society, but that's clearly untrue!" exclaimed a girl with copper hair as Harry entered.

"Excuse me, but can I join you?" Harry asked hesitantly.

"Of course! We were just talking about the Sorting! It's what all first years do. Are you a first year too?"

"Yes. I'm… it's nice to meet you," he said, deciding not to introduce himself yet.

"I'm Susan," the copper-haired girl said, introducing the nervous-looking black haired boy as Neville, the mournful-looking brown haired boy as Theodore, and the blonde girl beside her as her best friend, Hannah.

"I'm Harry," he said as he sat down, and he thankfully didn't get any inquiries as to his last name or his status in fame.

"I think I'd like to go to Hufflepuff like my mom," Neville said, continuing the conversation. "I don't feel brave enough to go to Gryffindor, but my gran would kill me if I didn't live up to my parents' courage."

"Surely she can see that if you follow your mother's footsteps it would be as good a way to remember your parents as to go to Gyffindor?" Susan asked.

"Well, she's my dad's mum, so she thinks of me following my dad."

"No, Neville, she's trying to raise you to BE your dad," Susan corrected.

"Is there anything wrong with that?" Neville asked morosely. "She deserves the chance to raise a son to survive into adulthood."

"Even if she's raising you, she has to understand that you're a different person. What better way to send a message than to go to Hufflepuff like you want to?"

"I don't want her to be disappointed in me."

"Don't worry about that. Every parent makes expectations for their child's sorting. Many of them are disappointed. It's a good learning experience for the parents. First they send their child away to a magical school where they have to make their own decisions, then they suddenly can't control every aspect of their child's life."

"And at least it isn't the old days," Theodore interjected, "When parents and anyone could send Howlers whenever they wanted. The day after the Sorting used to be called the Screaming Day, because of all the Howlers the kids would receive. They're banned now, so don't worry."

"And if she's disappointed, we'll all take your side," Susan pitched in.

It was Harry's turn to talk. "Er. I was raised by non-magical people, but… It seems to me that whatever house you want, whichever feels right for you… that should be the one you go to. It doesn't matter what other people think or say about who you should become. Because if you become someone you're not meant to be, you won't grow to reach your full potential. You'll make her proud by just growing, and if you think you'll grow best in Hufflepuff, you're probably right."

Susan applauded. "Very true, and very well-said. Harry, what House will you go for?"

Harry thought for a minute. "I don't know. I don't lean toward any of them at the moment. Besides, I don't even know how the Sorting works. Is it a test of some sort?"

"A hat reads your mind and tells you where you'll live for the next seven years," Theodore explained in a blasé monotone. Harry blinked. "I think I'll be a Slytherin. My dad was too. Or I could go to Ravenclaw. It's hard to say." Theodore was not particularly emotive.

"There's nothing wrong with that," Susan said decisively, as if she was the authority on the matter. "Slytherin isn't necessarily the home of the Evil." That being said, her face did twist up slightly.

"Where's Trevor?" Hannah asked, poking Neville in the shoulder. He jumped, looking around as if he only just remembered to look for something he'd dropped.

"Who's Trevor?" Harry asked the room at large.

"My toad," Neville explained, looking around the floor. "He always escapes."

"You should ask a prefect to help you find him," Theodore suggested glumly without looking in Neville's direction.

"But I don't want to bother them," Neville worried. "It's no problem, he'll show up eventually."

"I'll go with you," Harry offered. Neville looked incredibly grateful.

* * *

When Harry and Neville returned to the compartment, Trevor with them, there was someone new sitting there.

"I'm Hermione Granger," she said excitedly, "and I am very proud to be sitting among you today. I'm really excited to go to Hogwarts, I've already memorized all my course books. I've lately been researching the Sorting, but it's quite frustrating really, I can't find anything that explains how it's performed."

"A hat reads your mind and tells you where you'll live for the next seven years," Theodore repeated, still looking incredibly miserable. Hermione blinked, but recovered quickly enough.

"I can't tell what House I'll be going in, then. I don't think I'm particularly courageous, so I would assume I won't end up in Gryffindor. I was interested in Gryffindor because I read that was Headmaster Dumbledore's house when he was in Hogwarts, but someone suggested that I should find my own house instead of emulating people I haven't even met. I am quite ambitious, so it's more than likely I'll end up in Slytherin—"

"Not unless you can guard your tongue better than this," Theodore interrupted wearily.

"—or in Ravenclaw, because I am quite a curious individual, and I do value learning quite highly. And I can't say I'm honest enough to go to Hufflepuff, given my maneuver in getting the opportunity to attend Hogwarts this year, which might have been cunning enough to augur my being placed in Slytherin, but I can't tell. I don't think I'd flourish in an environment of ambition and cunning, whereas a House filled with those who value curiosity and wit sounds like a very pleasant place."

Everyone in the compartment was reeling from the velocity of her speech, with the obvious exception of Theodore, who was still staring lugubriously out the window. "We're getting near. You three should change into your robes," he said to Hannah, Harry, and Hermione, who were for some reason the only ones not already dressed in the Hogwarts attire.

* * *

Though none of them could see from this distance, the train was rapidly approaching a small station in a village of Hogsmeade, where they would soon step off to the sound of the groundskeeper calling, "Firs' years! Firs' years over here!" As night fell, they would group together by fours in the boats leading across the lake, Harry sitting with his new friends Theodore, Neville, and Susan, while Hannah and Hermione sat with Weasley and Malfoy, who apparently hadn't detested each other enough to sit in different compartments for the rest of the trip.

In these boats, the first years would gain their first glimpse of Hogwarts Castle. It was the only time they'd ever see it from this angle, and whoever decided that the first years should enter this way clearly knew a great deal about making a first impression. Even Theodore could not contain his awe at the majesty of the castle, all alit with golden light against the mystical midnight sky. From the angle of their approach, it seemed to loom infinitely, but protectively.

It was beautiful.


	7. Chapter V - The Sorting

_Chapter V: The Sorting_

* * *

 

The boats entered a narrow tunnel underneath a cliff at the edge of the castle. Harry wouldn’t be surprised if that hole just happened to only be present on the first of September. It seemed to pass right underneath the castle and led to a sort of underground harbor at what must have been the far side. After they climbed out of their boats, they followed the cave spiraling downward a few paces and to the left. Here, the cave wall gave way to bricks, and torches by the great wooden door leading to the castle gave the cave a nice dry feel that welcomed them home. The groundskeeper knocked thrice on the door, then stepped back.

As if on command, the door swung open, revealing a very comfortable-looking hallway. Banners depicting the houses and their animals lined the room in between windows that reflected the night sky outside, despite the fact that this part of the castle Harry was quite certain was underground. Immediately, a stern-looking witch in very witchy robes of deep ruby red swept into view through the archway. Harry instantly recognized her as Professor McGonagall.

“Thank you, Hagrid. I will take them from here.”

Hagrid, the groundskeeper, nodded proudly and stood aside for the first years to follow her in. The hall was enormous, easily large enough to swallow the students. As if afraid it would do just that, the nervous first years huddled together much closer than was necessary. Professor McGonagall led them down the length of the hall, which was adorned not only with the banners of the house colors, but also with several portraits, which started to move. This surprised Harry, and a few of the others, but most seemed used to this kind of behavior. Outside the windows, owls flew by nonchalantly, as if trying to impress upon the students just how magical this school would be.

Instead of taking them through the great stone door at the end of the hall, Professor McGonagall led them up a small spiral staircase carved into the stone, which led them a floor upward. This must be the standard entrance hall, Harry decided, which would put them at ground level. Harry could hear the quiet roar of conversation nearby, but the door at the top of the stairs seemed unusually small compared to the great doors below.

Indeed, this smaller door led to an appropriately smaller room, with three doors in total. One lay on each wall except the one opposite their entrance, which instead boasted a large and ornate painting of a phoenix in a golden cage that had no bars. The phoenix moved, of course, turning to regard the first years with interest. Professor McGonagall took a standing position directly to the left of the phoenix painting and waited for all of the first years to gather before speaking.

“Welcome to Hogwarts. The start-of-term banquet will begin shortly, but before you take your seats in the Great Hall, you will be sorted into your houses. The Sorting is a very important ceremony because, while you are here, your house will be something like your family within Hogwarts. You will have classes with the rest of your house, sleep in your house dormitory, and spend free time in your house common room. The four houses, as you are no doubt aware, are Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin. Each has its own noble history and has produced outstanding witches and wizards. While you are at Hogwarts, your triumphs will earn your house points, while any rulebreaking will cause your house to lose some of the points it has amassed. I hope each of you will be a credit to whichever house becomes yours.”

She paused to survey the crowd of students. “The Sorting Ceremony will take place in a few minutes. Please wait quietly. I shall return when we are ready for you.” She left the chamber through the door to Harry’s left.

Harry kept his eyes on the door, thinking about what house he would go into. He really didn’t know what house would be his, and he could see strengths and weaknesses for each.

Harry gave a start as a figure entered the room through the door he was staring at. Not by opening it, no, by gliding through it! It was a human, transparent and colorless, and very clearly a ghost. She had long hair and a serene expression. Harry heard gasps from the other students and turned to find several other ghosts, perhaps twenty in all, gliding into the room from all around to watch the first years.

“You’re ghosts!” someone in the crowd pointed out.

“Yes,” several ghosts responded in unison.

Several seconds passed.

“Are you going to say something?” someone else demanded.

“No,” came the chorused reply.

Several seconds more passed as a staring contest between the two bodies. The students, being unprepared and mentally preoccupied with the Sorting that lay ahead, easily lost. The ghosts remained as they were until the door to the left creaked open again. Then they hastily left the room, fleeing into the ceiling or the floor or the other walls, turning invisible as they left.

Professor McGonagall walked in and announced, “It is time.”

“Form a line and follow me,” she bid them, leading them through the door to their right.

When they entered the room, it became apparent that this was the Great Hall, just as seen through a back entrance. The door exited from behind the large dais upon which rested the large table where the teachers were sitting, and the line led around to the front of the table, elevated so the whole hall could see the first years. After positioning them up there, Professor McGonagall grabbed a wizard’s hat, looking very shabby and worn, and positioned it in the front of the hall, just off the dais.

It sat on a very expensive-looking purple pillow, which highlighted just how shabby the hat was. The first years stood watching it, and so did the rest of the hall. What were they waiting for?

Suddenly, the folds of the hat twitched, open wide, and the hat began to sing.

_“Welcome, folks both young and old,_

_And several in between,_

_To Hogwarts, where the Sorting Hat_

_Shall anon intervene!_

_My role is nigh, my purpose here,_

_To put you in your place._

_So walk right up and have a seat,_

_Take worry off your face!_

_I’m only useful once a year,_

_And though that bothers me,_

_I do my duty perfectly,_

_As soon you all shall see._

_I’ll look inside your squishy brains_

_To peer inside your mind,_

_Then soon divine where you should live_

_Because of what I find._

_You may be placed in Gryffindor,_

_Where Courage reigns all hearts,_

_And bravery and chivalry_

_Surpass all other arts._

_You may be sent to Ravenclaw,_

_Where Thinking is the key._

_The curious and keen will thrive,_

_And learn a thing or three._

_Perhaps you’ll go to Hufflepuff,_

_If Honesty is found._

_Integrity is crucial there,_

_And loyalty abounds._

_Or maybe you’re a Slytherin,_

_With Cunning, and with Pride._

_Your ambition may serve you well,_

_If that’s what you decide._

_In any case, I hope you’ll find_

_This stunning Hogwarts year_

_Is made the better for the House_

_You’re Sorted into here._

_So put me on! Don’t be afraid!_

_And don’t get in a flap!_

_You’re in safe hands (though I have none)_

_For I’m a Thinking Cap!”_

Harry thought. And thought. None of the houses sounded like him. Professor McGonagall started reading names off a long scroll of parchment, but Harry barely noticed. Where would he be sorted? He looked at the people sitting at the four House tables. There were no immediate trends he could notice. Of course, stereotyping the members of a House was really not the best idea, Weasley and Malfoy had told him. It wasn’t as if one House should look perfectly serene, one excitable, and one hideous.

It was a shame, really. If it worked like that, Harry would just ask to go to the clearly superior House.

Harry missed the Sorting of the two girls who’d shared the compartment with him. Hannah Abbott and Susan Bones were both put in Hufflepuff, and they sat proudly at the table with the others. Their robes had changed the second the Hat had called out, “HUFFLEPUFF!” They now sported the yellow and black badger on the chests of their robes. Harry wondered if he’d join them. He was loyal, and he appreciated honesty.

“Granger, Hermione!” was called, and the named girl all but ran to the stool.

“RAVENCLAW!” was called, and Hermione joined her new House gleefully. Harry wondered if he’d join her there. He was curious enough, and he liked learning things.

While Harry was wondering about the merits of Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff, he lost track of the Sorting. Someone had just been sent to Gryffindor. Was Harry brave enough for Gryffindor?

Neville Longbottom was sent to Hufflepuff, and now sat between Hannah and Susan, visibly relieved.

“Malfoy, Draco!”

Harry suddenly remembered what Malfoy – Draco, that is – had told him about Slytherin. It would be a highly unpleasant place to live for seven years, if what he’d said was true, but Draco had implied that was part of the purpose. Harry looked at the Slytherin table. Several people there certainly did look unpleasant, but surely that wasn’t all there was to the house?

Besides, now that “Nott, Theodore!” had been sent to Slytherin, there was clear and direct confirmation that they weren’t all bad. Although maybe the people in that house just tended to be as perpetually depressed as Theo, which struck Harry as a particularly tragic train of thought.

Suddenly the Hall went very quiet again, more so than any time prior. The silence passed, and the whispering increased tenfold.

“Potter, Harry!” had been called.

Of course. They were talking about him. He rolled his eyes, and several people giggled. He stepped forward, and put the Hat on his head.

“Hmm,” a small voice seemed to talk to him, “I see you’ve thought about this quite a bit. And a good thing too, because otherwise I’d have to dig deep to get an inkling of what to do with you. You’ve got it all, it seems. Though, really, a lot of people say that. Don’t worry. I’ll come up with the perfect place for you. Let me see here… You really should go with… SLYTHERIN!”

The hall fell silent. Mouths dropped open, eyes bulged comically, and at least one person fainted. Wait, no, he was only pretending to faint. This is exactly what Harry had been worried about.

He supposed he could have tried to stop it. He could have asked not to be placed in Slytherin. But… Surely it wouldn’t be that bad?

He trudged awkwardly to the Slytherin table. People gave him a wide berth, except for Theodore, who sighed and gestured to the seat across from him.

It was only then that Harry noticed that the hall was starting to applaud. It began with three first years over at the Hufflepuff table. Loyal indeed. Harry’s face broke into a smile as he saw them, and he waved to them. This caused the other Hufflepuffs to join in, and a few Gryffindors and Ravenclaws as well. The red-haired Gryffindor who had pretended to faint was clapping enthusiastically now, along with what appeared to be his clone. Hermione was beaming. The only Slytherin to join in the clapping was Theodore, who did so lazily and with a grimace. Up at the staff table, Professor Snape clapped too, bearing almost the exact same expression.

There were only a few people left to be sorted. It took multiple calls of “Thomas, Dean!” to be heard over what was now a din of applause and even louder whispers. As Dean took his place at the Gryffindor table, the noise died down. “Turpin, Lisa!” was sent to Ravenclaw, and then there were only two remaining.

“Weasley, Ronald!”

The red of his hair clashed horribly with his face, which had gone a pale green. The hat proclaimed, “GRYFFINDOR!”

Ronald wobbled over to his new House table before collapsing. Harry applauded, and got a few nasty looks from the other Slytherins for his troubles. Harry almost decided to pointedly not applaud when “Zabini, Blaise!” joined them, but he decided that would be a personal affront to someone who had done him no harm.

The Sorting now over, Professor McGonagall sent the hat and stool and pillow away with a wave of her wand, then took her seat back at the High Table.

The hall had now broken into conversation again, but was quickly silenced. Harry looked up and saw why.

The Headmaster was standing.


	8. Chapter VI - Hogwarts

_Chapter VI: Hogwarts_

* * *

The Headmaster waved his hands once, and the room settled down.

"Welcome, one and all, to the start of another glorious school year. And, more importantly, the start of another bountiful feast! It would be criminal of me to beg your attention and let your stomachs wait. By all means, dig in!"

Harry's meal was uninterrupted by conversation. Nobody at the table seemed very eager to talk to him, not even Theo. Theo didn't seem like the kind of person who found conversations very appealing, especially when wallowing in silence was an option.

There were so many different kinds of meat and vegetables and everything, it was like a dream come true. Harry tasted some of everything, and was delighted at how perfectly everything was seasoned. Especially the fish, which tasted a lot better than it looked. The only thing that would have made the meal better, Harry thought, was a plate of salami.

No sooner had he thought of this than he found one over to his side. He reached for it – nobody over there was so much as looking in his direction, much less offering to pass it over – and happened to catch a few words of their muttering.

"…vanquished the Dark… not going to be happy about this… right under our…"

Harry had the sinking suspicion they were talking about him, and their tone did not sound pleasant.

* * *

After the meal time was finished and the plates disappeared, the Headmaster once again rose to his feet, and again, the hall was silenced.

"To those of you new here, welcome to Hogwarts! And to those of you familiar here, welcome back! Now, before the term truly begins, there are some things of which you must be informed. As for staff arrangements, please welcome Professor Quirrel, who will be taking the post of Defense Against the Dark Arts." A man with a purple turban clumsily stood and bowed. As Harry looked at him, he felt a sharp pain in his forehead, around his scar. He made a small exclamation of pain, and then it was gone, and Professor Dumbledore was once again speaking.

"First years should be aware that the forest on the grounds is forbidden to all students. I promise you will not want to find out why." He glanced toward the Gryffindor table as he said this.

"Next, the caretaker, Mr. Filch, has asked me to remind you that students are not to be caught performing magic in the corridor. I say remind, as he is certain you all have read the rules thoroughly by now. If not, you can stop by his office to get a new copy of the list of rules."

"If you are a third year and you have your permission slip for the village of Hogsmeade, you can turn it in to your Head of House no later than October 3rd. If you are a second year and you have your permission slip to try out for your house team, you must turn it in before Quidditch trials begin, sometime in the second week of term."

"And finally, it is crucial that you all be very aware that the third-floor corridor on the right-hand side is off limits this year to anyone who does not find a gruesome death in their best interests."

At this last point of news, the hall broke out into muttering. So messages like this weren't common, Harry judged, given that the older students were producing just as much conversation as the new ones. Very few people laughed – a sign that the Headmaster wasn't joking. Harry wondered why he'd do whatever it was he'd done to the corridor. But then, it didn't concern him, so it wasn't any of his business.

"And with that, business is concluded. From here, you are in the hands of your Heads of House. Off you trot!"

The grand doors swung open. Harry heard the voice of Professor Snape over the din of rustling and conversation filling the room. "We are dismissing by year level. Senior prefects, please guide the first years to the dormitories."

As a thin girl with curly brown hair and a boy with short, hopelessly tangled black hair led the Slytherin first years out into the hall, Harry noticed that the other tables were following the same pattern.

The prefects led them down a staircase which led to a single corridor in the dungeons. "All houses' common rooms are in tough-to-reach portions of the castle. For this purpose, tapestries conceal passageways that are very well-known to students. As the castle is so large, it is expected you will learn about them and where they lead, to help you arrive on time to your classes." She motioned to the banners on the walls here. They were all green, with silver embroidery.

"The sturdy dungeon door at the end of the corridor here leads to Professor Snape's office. If you have any issues, never hesitate to approach him. The entrance into our common room is over to the side."

The female prefect turned to the torch on the wall to the left of the door. "Toujours Pur," she intoned. The thick grey bricks slid down to reveal a passageway. As Harry walked through it, he noticed the blocks change halfway into blocks of polished marble.

The Slytherin common room was lit by a large and delicate chandelier, and the furniture seemed similarly large and delicate. Most of the interest was drawn to the large window peering out into the lake. The prefects let the students explore and talk. Nobody wanted to talk to Harry, though Theo stood next to him, almost protectively.

Harry looked around the room. There was a fireplace so small and out of the way it was hard to see, next to two large couches of blue silk. There were seven doors along one wall, which seemed almost intentionally to be placed away from the focus of the room. Above these doors, a balcony led to seven more, with a silver ladder at its edge. The prefects called the students back over to them.

The male prefect spoke up. "You get to the dorms by going through the door with your year number. You can't get through the other ones. The doors know what year you're supposed to be in. Prefects can, of course, but aside from that your dorms are restricted to you and your yearmates. Girls can't go in boys' dorms, boys can't go in girls' dorms. Girls' dorms are up on the balcony."

The two prefects parted ways, and Harry followed his through the door marked "1" in silver.

This door led to a dimly lit hallway, with several doors on the left and tables with candles on the right.

"Each dorm room holds two people. Check the plaques by the door to find which one's yours. If you don't like the arrangements, you can change them at any time, no need to go through a prefect or professor."

Harry found his roommate was Blaise Zabini. He entered their shared room to find Khione asleep on his bed next to his trunk. The beds were four-posters, with green silk curtains. Zabini left the room with his trunk, and Theo entered.

Without looking at Harry, Theo said, "They don't like you, and I sat with you, so they don't like me either. I don't care about them, though."

Harry sighed. He'd have to get used to having enemies sleeping right down the hall from him. "I'm sorry about that, Theo. I really don't know what I did."

"It's… fine, Harry."

"You're a good friend," Harry said as he climbed into his bed.

"…Good night," Theo said, turning off the light.

* * *

Percy led the Gryffindor first years up a flight of marble stairs, around a few corners, up another flight of stairs, through some corridors, and up another staircase. Ron was starting to get tired of it. He barely noticed when they came to a sudden halt, and didn't notice why until the others started talking.

"Peeves, show yourself!" Percy demanded. "I am a prefect."

With a clatter, a bouquet of walking sticks hit the ground. "A prefect? Interesting!" a disembodied voice cried. "Come get me, Sir Prefect," it taunted.

"Peeves, I don't time for this. Do you want me to go get the Bloody Baron?"

"I don't think that'll be necessary," the disembodied voice said. Suddenly, a first year leapt into the air with a scream.

Peeves had made himself visible, just after dropping an ice cube down someone's shirt.

"Go away, Peeves! Now! I mean it!" shouted Percy. Peeves stuck out his tongue and floated away.

Alert again, Ron noticed they were standing in a circular sort of chamber at the end of the hallway. Suits of armor lined the walls, and the end of the corridor held a portrait of a very large woman in a pink silk dress.

"Password?" she asked, giving a wink to the first years as if to say, "Just wait for what you're about to see."

"Caput Draconis," Percy responded, and the portrait swung inward, exposing a passageway. Ron found himself in the Gryffindor common room, which was very cozy and very warm. It had warm rugs, soft chairs, and a large fireplace that was clearly the centerpiece. Despite the warmth, it was not too hot at all.

Before anyone had a chance to take more than a perfunctory glance at their surroundings, Percy directed the girls through one door to their dormitory and the boys to theirs. The door led to a thick stone staircase spiraling around at the edge of the tower. At every other flight of stairs, there was a door. The dorms must have all been stacked upon one another.

The first years all entered the first door, labeled "First Years" by a wooden sign at the top. They found their trunks had already been brought up, and were sitting beside the three four-poster beds. Ron collapsed onto his, drawing shut the curtains of red velvet. He barely noticed Scabbers scurrying around the sheets, falling asleep almost at once.

* * *

Severus lay stiffly in his bed, mulling over the day's events with a scowl. Particularly the event of Potter's sorting. How could this happen? Slytherin was already full of pompous, entitled brats whose parents believed they owned the world. The last thing it needed was James Potter's son to worsen matters.

 _"_ _He's not James,"_  Severus heard his conscience say, in a voice that wasn't quite Lily's. It was something to consider. The boy had been raised by Petunia, and she was as Slytherin as it was possible to get, especially for a Muggle. Perhaps Potter would be a great Slytherin. The idea grated.

The best course of action, Severus decided sullenly, would be to treat Potter like every other student. It was a shame he looked almost exactly like his father. Severus contemplated feeding the boy a potion that would cause his physical appearance to slowly change, very slightly and over a long time; his plans grew increasingly complex and unrealistic until he dropped off to sleep, dreaming of himself brewing the Dreamless Sleep potion. It was a simple trick of Occlumency.

* * *

As the wind whistled outside, Minerva McGonagall threw the door of her study closed. The first day was always exhausting. The second day would be even worse, with giving the first years a tour of the castle. The duty always fell to the Deputy Headmistress. Her classes wouldn't start until the following day.

It was all the more important that she get a good night's sleep.

In the morning, she awoke the first years of her house, Ravenclaw, and gave them a speech very similar to the ones being given simultaneously by the other Heads of House. She explained the rules in greater depth, the schedules, and the responsible adults to whom any student could go for help.

After the speech and a special breakfast in her study – a once in a lifetime opportunity – she took them up to the Hospital Wing, where the other Heads of House were waiting with their first years. Madame Poppy Pomfrey delivered her own speech about how the Hospital Wing was the most important place to know in the school. Any banner, portrait, or tapestry with the red ribbon would take you there in an emergency.

The other teachers disappeared to go teach their classes, and Minerva McGonagall gave the students rough maps of the school. These maps would always show the student their exact location in the school, which made the map very useful for a new student who was learning the counterintuitive geometry of the place. It was a shame the map couldn't display the countless passageways and their destinations. Until you learned where a tapestry led, you had to step through it to find out.

It was dinnertime when the tour had ended, and Minerva sighed with relief.

* * *

Theodore and Harry spent their time after dinner talking to their friends from Hufflepuff in the library. Susan, Hannah, and Neville were joined by a new friend of theirs, who introduced himself as Justin Finch-Fletchey.

"It's a bit discouraging," Harry said. "They don't talk to me or accept me as one of them. I'm just worried. Now that I'm a Slytherin, most of the Gryffindors don't like me either."

"Don't worry," Hannah assured him. "We won't turn you away. It's a shame you have to sit in your Slytherin common room by yourselves, though, and not our Hufflepuff one. You'd feel much more at home there."

"Visiting the Hufflepuff common room might spell out our death warrants," Theodore commented.

"Does it really matter?" Harry asked, leaning back and grabbing a book off the table beside him.

"Yes, Harry, it does," Theodore sighed.

Harry shrugged. "Tomorrow all first years have a scavenger hunt, right? We don't have to pick teammates from our own houses. We can group up, it'll be great."

"Aren't the groups supposed to be groups of three?" Neville asked.

"Well, we could split up into two groups. We can work out the details tomorrow. What classes do you have after that?"

"Potions with Ravenclaw and Herbology with Gryffindor," Susan answered, pulling out her schedule.

"We have Charms and Transfiguration," Harry noted. "And Astronomy, I think."

The students stayed in the library, talking about their schedules until it was time for the library to close.

* * *

Severus, the Potions Master, had just finished a very satisfactory session of NEWT Potions. How he loved teaching that class. Unfortunately, his mood was soured by his next class. First years were very difficult to teach.

After calling roll, he pulled out a list of questions from the textbook that they should have read over the summer. The answers were mostly trivia, as any practical application of them would wait until second or third year, but they were in the textbook, and in the first year chapters too.

He gave them the questions for homework – the answers were easy to find, particularly if the appendices were used – and spent the rest of the class talking about the subject.

"And if you find that you are falling behind, do not hesitate to get help," he concluded. He made sure to keep his tone strict and uninviting. "But  _not_  from me." He paused to allow the students to exchange confused glances.

"I have neither the patience nor the spare time to help whoever is falling behind. Besides, I have been told my methods are… rigorous. Remedial potions and tutoring can be obtained from Professor Sprout, as she is the only other teacher here to have mastered the art. I am sure you will find her lessons enlightening. If you neglect to request aid, you are intentionally failing yourselves. Have I been clear?"

A chorus of "Yes, professor," followed.

"Good." Pomona Sprout would have been perfect at teaching Potions to first years, but the Headmaster wouldn't allow any schedules to be stretched so thin, and decent teachers were hard to come by these days. The war had taken its toll.

"For the next class, study the procedure for making a cure for boils. Arrive equipped for practical work. Class is dismissed."


End file.
